


Dodging Fate

by nevergonnaquitit



Category: Hannibal (TV), Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, Slash, human objects, twittibal - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2122251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevergonnaquitit/pseuds/nevergonnaquitit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dodger is a male escort. Bentley is a junior lawyer. Bentley spills coffee on Dodger's shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a chance meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Bentley belongs to Twitter user @HanniVroom  
> Dodger belongs to Twitter user @Sams_Nice_Car

In the course of his life, Dodger had learned that nothing was really free.

  
For instance--those Buy One Get One Free deals? They always meant the original item was overpriced.

  
That was how the world worked. It was always trying to take advantage of you.

  
When the guy in the expensive suit and thick black shades had spilled coffee all down his front when they accidentally bumped into one another on 42nd St., Dodger had just expected an "I'm sorry."

  
What he got was an invitation to be bought a new shirt at Macy's--which he'd taken--and then the offer of a shower at the guy's apartment.

  
It was almost a perverse inversion of how Dodger's nights usually went.

  
He wasn't a streetwalker, nothing so sordid. But there were certain discreet ads out there that advertised Dodger's services as a...companion. An intimate companion.

  
This guy, obviously, didn't know about that, and Dodger was glad for it. People could be very judgmental about his field of employment.

  
He said his name was Bentley Lecter, and that he worked for some big-time law firm as a junior attorney. He was tall and had a jawline that was sharper than a razor blade. Dodger never saw his eyes; he wore the sunglasses outside and inside, even though it was dark. In general, this would have struck Dodger as creepy and douchey, but he thought it suited Bentley Lecter's reclusive personality. It didn't take him long to realize that this thing Bentley was doing for him was out of the ordinary, mostly done on a whim.

  
It actually made him feel special.

  
"What's your name," Bentley had said while they were in the Macy's, as he flicked through a bunch of Oxford shirts that cost more than Dodger made in a week.

  
It didn't even sound like a question. More like a demand.

  
"Dodger," Dodger said. And nothing else.

  
"What are you, like Beyonce? No last name?"

  
"...Something like that." No one knew Dodger's last name, and he planned to keep it like that.

  
It was inevitable, after buying him a new shirt and letting him use his shower and even, shit, making him dinner--a three course meal complete with expensive wine--that Bentley would want to know about Dodger's life.

  
"Tell me about yourself, Dodger With-no-last-name," Bentley said over the perfectly medium rare steak they were both cutting up, Bentley delicately and Dodger with hungry relish.

  
"Ah..." Dodger looked up. "Like what? What do you wanna know?"

  
"What do you do?" Bentley had a fabric napkin tucked neatly in his lap, his sunglasses still firmly pitched on his nose.

  
Dodger wondered what color his eyes were.

  
"Oh, ah." Dodger cleared his throat. "I'm...a companion." He made sure to keep his voice casual but dismissive, trying to cut the topic, on his end at least, short. "What about you?"

  
And as Bentley began to talk about his own work, thankfully, he seemed unconcerned with ferreting out Dodger's secrets.

  
Afterwards, Dodger shrugged on his jacket and went to Bentley's very nice penthouse's door, and when he opened it, he saw that it was snowing.

  
His shoulders slumped.

  
"What is it?"

  
Bentley was almost too close, almost but not quite invading Dodger's personal space. Strangely, Dodger didn't really mind this.

  
"It's...it's snowing," Dodger said, numbly. "I..."

  
After a recent string of very, very bad luck, he'd been forced to sleep on a park bench for the time being until he earned enough money to find another apartment.   
He supposed he'd have to ask for a ride to the local homeless shelter tonight. How embarrassing.

  
When he muttered this, with burning cheeks, to Bentley Lecter, whose stupid unnecessary sunglasses cost more than anything Dodger had ever owned, to his surprise, the man said, "So stay here."

  
"What." Was Dodger's exact response.

  
Bentley raised an eyebrow. "I said, stay here. I have plenty of space."

  
"Oh no," said Dodger. "I'm not a leech. I don't take charity." There was a streak of pride in Dodger that was a mile wide. "...I'll have to do something for you in return."

  
With a tilt of his head, Bentley I-wear-my-sunglasses-at-night Lecter said, "And what would that be?"

  
So of course Dodger was going to have to show him.


	2. amazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dodger has never really enjoyed sex.

Usually, Dodger wasn't a big fan of sex.

  
Obviously, when it was your job to have sex with people, it could become quite boring. And Dodger was available to both men and women. Most of his clients were women in their 30s and 40s, but he'd been with a handful of men, too. He wasn't really attracted to any of them; they were just a paycheck.

  
He was quickly realizing that Bentley Lecter wasn't just a paycheck.

  
It took him a little while to get Bentley to accept what was going to happen.

  
"It's taking advantage," Bentley had said delicately.

  
"I won't take no for an answer," Dodger had replied stubbornly, and though the conversation had continued after that, eventually, Dodger had won.

  
He was stepping into Bentley's huge bedroom, watching as the taller man shrugged off his suit jacket. Dodger started working open the buttons of his newly bought shirt, unselfconscious. After all, he'd done this many times before.

  
But Bentley didn't just pull him into bed and go about his business like most people.

  
Clearly, Bentley was a thorough kind of man. He stalked towards Dodger, who instinctively stepped back, and rested his large, warm hands on Dodger's shoulders, just looking at him for several long moments.

  
"What is it?" Dodger finally said, unused to this kind of attention.

  
Bentley leaned in--but he didn't even kiss Dodger, just let their cheeks brush against one another, Bentley's perfectly smooth against Dodger's stubble. "You," he said in a deep purr, "are a very attractive man, Dodger With-no-last-name."

  
It actually made Dodger blush. He knew he wasn't unattractive, of course. It would be difficult to excell in his field if he was. But he was unused to compliments.   
"Ah...thank you," he managed, leaning his head back as Bentley's plush lips pressed to his collarbone. This felt almost like a seduction.

  
Most of the time, what Dodger did with his clients could only be described as fucking. It was two people taking what they wanted--the client, sexual pleasure, and Dodger, the promise of payment. He rarely enjoyed himself.

  
He couldn't call what happened next fucking.

  
It was slow, and soft, and sensual, and it made a slow burn build in his gut and when he came, his toes curled and his cheeks burned and Bentley kissed over the burn, gasping in his own release.

  
It was amazing.

  
"That was amazing," Bentley agreed afterwards, pulling Dodger into his arms. Which was another new thing. It was customary for clients to either get up and take a shower after, or politely (and sometimes not so politely) kick Dodger out of bed so that they could sleep. But Bentley Lecter was actually cuddling him.

  
It was kind of funny because he was still wearing those damned sunglasses.

  
"It was something," Dodger said, and wondered what he had gotten himself into.


End file.
